Friday Night
The cool kids spent the time talking about regrettable experiences and sensitive boys.
With cigarettes in our mouths and promiscuity under our belts,
we bonded over the blood on our hands.
Bragged about our victims, showing off their bones we wore strung around our necks.
The cool kids in the first booth on the closed side of the restaurant.
You walked around the corner and looked me in the eyes.
“He didn’t belong to me but he said, with love in his eyes, he wanted to worship my thighs.”
I got caught, with your right hand ring finger.
Caught with our forgotten tracing the curve of my grin.
Sometimes I wish I could just shut up and leave the past buried.
But here I am, hands covered in blisters and dirt from the shovel.
And the dirt will wash free but blisters reminds me how things change quick.
Makes me sick, how I wish for my words on your lips, with your hands on her hips.
Nothing around me is the same and I stand unchanged.
The rain leaves everyone’s clothes soaked but I’m still dry, dying of drought.
For the record:
I don’t care to homewreck such a pleasant union, or to have you change my tire 2am.
I just need support, something civil, with a bit of closure.
Something that we used to say but more unconditional.
Like how it used to be.
“I told him, I’d be there whenever he’d need me and he said he’d do the same..”
The cool kids spent the time comparing scars and sharing tips to healing wounds.
“But I’m still waiting to be needed, you know, hoping he is too..
hoping it wasn’t a lie.”
I spent the time talking about my scars, my regrettable experiences of sensitive boys with the cool kids.
The cool kids in the first booth on the closed side of the restaurant.
